Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Imogen

I was always tired at the end of a shift, but there was no exhaustion like the end of a Saturday one. It felt like half of the city converged on the supermarket the first day of the weekend, eager to get their weekly shopping done. My feet ached, so did my back and my legs, but right as I was getting ready to go, I remembered that there was no food in the house and I'd promised to make dinner. With a sigh, I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out to grab a shopping trolley.

"Doing a bit of shopping?"

I jumped ten feet at the deep voice, my fevered brain sure it was Mike or Phil, but of course neither of them spoke with such velvety tones. Instead, I found Asher standing there. He pulled a shopping trolley out of the bay and then wheeled it over to me.

"You escort women while they buy tampons, huh?" I asked, smiling despite myself. "That's some service you provide."

"When someone's intent on harassing them and the woman is too stubborn to admit it, then yeah, I do," he replied.

There was something completely unrepentant about him. He was being ridiculous and he knew it, not caring for a second. That had me sighing before grabbing the trolley and wheeling it forward.

I needed everything I quickly realised as I approached the first aisle, and that was a problem. I didn't get paid for a couple of days, my savings were cleared out by the deposit for my new apartment, and I'd neglected to take what I could from my old place, thinking I had the weekend to go back for whatever I needed. I stared down the laundry aisle and wondered how long I could go before I really had to wash my uniform.

"Get what you need." A black credit card with no markings on it whatsoever was passed over, but I just stared at it. He wiggled it in front of me, like a fisherman might bait. "Whatever you need?—"

"Why?"

What the fuckity fuck was I doing? If some dickhead with very pretty blue eyes wanted to buy me groceries, I was not on the kind of pay grade that would allow me to go, ‘O no, kind sir, I couldn't possibly.' Grab the card , a hard, needy part of me said inside my head. Take it and get the damn groceries. But I couldn't help but stare at the hand that was trying to feed me, wondering if I needed to bite it.

"Why not?"

The guy had arrogant fuckface written all over him, as if somehow he knew that under that scar, he was a freaking gorgeous guy. Shit, even with the scar, I'm fairly sure some hoity-toity fashion house would snap him up to walk their runway, figuring that dangerous smoulder would sell a whole lot of suits. Instead, he just watched me watch him, right before I pushed the card away.

"Keep it," I said. He was about to argue. Of course he was. "You can pay for my groceries if pitying the poor scraggly thing you saved from Phil last night makes you feel good, but…" I met his eyes, not letting the cool stare put me off. "Just realise that's all it buys you. I'm not giving hand jobs in the back of a car just for a bottle of laundry detergent."

"Not even the high-end kind?" He walked over and grabbed one of massive boxes that would last me for the rest of my life and plonked it into the trolley with a defiant air. I sucked in a breath, but he continued, "I'm not in the habit of paying for favours, sexual or otherwise, Imogen. I help people…" When his hand went to his scar, my eyes followed it and that had his deeply tanned skin flushing pink momentarily. "Because it helps me feel better about myself. Now, pre-wash soaker? Enzyme wash?"

"Sure," I said with a shrug. "If you're buying…"

And he was. I was fascinated to see a man that one, seemed to know his way around household items, helping identify things I would've overlooked in my overtired state, and two, seemed completely comfortable filling my trolley with everything I needed. No, it was more than that. I caught the gleam in his eyes as he considered the contents of the trolley. It was as if he got off on seeing me run up an insane bill on his dime. Daniel had talked about getting into online financial domination to bankroll my move, and I was beginning to wonder if this was Asher's kink. If it was, would he have followed me out to my car, eyes everywhere until we got to my boot, then he plucked the keys from my fingers and went to work stacking all of my items neatly in the back?

"I guess you're gonna want some lamb stew as well?" I asked as I stood by the driver's side.

"If you're cooking it, yes," he replied.

A man walking between my car and the one next to us should've been a little intimidating, but for some reason, that's not how I felt with Asher. He was massive, filling that thin gap, and yet somehow, the way I'd felt the day we met came rushing back. Safe, that's what pulsed within me, a feeling I would've wrinkled my nose up at as a kid, but now? Safe was lovely, safe was everything I wanted.

Safe was fucking hot.

At that, I forced myself to smile and opened my car door, wincing at the creak.

"OK, meet me at my place and I'll see what I can whip up."

Pulling away from him felt wrong but I did it anyway, gritting my teeth as I put my hands on the steering wheel. I didn't like feeling like that. In my mind, it'd all been simple. I'd find a place, move out, spend a couple of months enjoying my now stress-free life before putting myself out there. Instead, I put moves on the first guy to give me a hug. My emotions, my instincts felt all off kilter, forcing me to react in ways I didn't understand. Instead of ruminating further on that, I put the key in the ignition and then took off down the road towards home.

Only to find the rest of the gang was waiting for me.

We passed a few of my new neighbours. A couple of guys eyed me, then my groceries with interest, that fading as Asher carried the lion's share upstairs, but by my front door was Lucas and Kyle. A brand new door, painted the same colour as my existing one, was propped against the wall, along with all of these boxes.

"What the?—?"

"Security," Lucas informed me smoothly. "These will help keep you safe. While at home, you'll have nothing to worry about."

If only that was the case. I unlocked the door and let everyone in.

When I put stuff away, filled my shelves and the fridge, I felt some of the satisfaction I'd intended to feel. It was like every item was a claim made by me over this space. It was mine, mine, mine alone, something I felt until I heard the sound of a drill undoing the screws of the existing door. For a moment, the entire world was given free access to my apartment, until they went to work. Hinges were replaced as were the door handle and the locks before it was set back in place. As I started pulling out ingredients for the stew, I watched the door get hung, the hinges tested, then the lock and the deadbolt.

"That's better," Kyle said, hands on his hips, seeming satisfied with their handy work. "So, Imogen, need a hand with anything?"

I was about to ask about the boxes when Asher and Lucas went to work. They were discussing things I had no idea about, like the difference between different models of motion sensors, when he appeared on the other side of the kitchen counter.

"Can you cut onions without crying like a baby?"

"Nope."

His grin was infectious.

"Guess you better cut them anyway." I nodded to the pantry. "You can test the quality of the tissues that Asher bought if you need to have a little cry."

"Diced or sliced, and how many onions?"

Kyle seemed utterly undeterred by the idea of having weepy eyes and stinky hands, removing the brown skin before grabbing the second chopping board I unwrapped. There was a comfortable, easy air about the entire living area, replacing the alien feeling of last night, right up until I grabbed the kitchen knives from the grocery bags.

It was the same packet Phil had bought. I didn't want to think about that, see him, hear him inside my head when I saw it, my fingers dimpling the hard plastic container they were sealed within. I didn't want to think about anything to do with Mike at all, but suddenly I was just staring. Why would Phil need knives? Why would he need knives and Vaseline? The thought seemed to cycle over and over inside my head because I didn't have an answer and suddenly I needed to.

Kyle reached out slowly, the sight of those very long, very strong fingers with prominent knuckles and a small white scar across one of them finally breaking my spell. He didn't ask questions, though, simply producing a pocket knife and flicking it open before cutting through the packaging. A knife was held out hilt first and I took it with a grateful nod. I could have all the brain farts I liked later, after the carrots were cut and the celery diced.

"Damn, that smells amazing."

I looked up as Asher and Lucas returned. The stew was in my grandmother's old cast iron cook pot, bubbling away gently on the stove. Lucas was right, because the smell of thyme and garlic filled the kitchen.

"Just need to get the potatoes boiling and everything will be done," I said with a smile.

"We can do that." Kyle and Lucas looked at each other. "Asher can show you the changes we've made."

Asher didn't seem so sure about that. It was strange seeing such a big man look so uncomfortable, but he nodded.

"We'll start in the spare bedroom."

"While we'll get started on the rest of this wine," Kyle announced, rinsing off the new wine glasses and then pouring out three measures.

I'd wanted to buy something cheap to add to the stew, but Asher had been adamant this was the bottle to buy. Golden liquid beckoned me closer, but instead I followed Asher into the spare room.

"So." I looked at the room, seeing small wires and devices subtly tucked away. "What did you end up installing?"